But it isn’t only that sentence that does it or how boxed into a corner Joe feels. It is Evan’s expression, a beat after he’s spoken. Triumphant. Full of testosterone. Somebody who has finally got one over on his boss.

Joe isn’t having it.

For a second, right as he decides what to do, Joe thinks he sees Evan flinch. Just a slight shiver, the sort a child would make in their sleep. It happens right as they cross the threshold of a field, into the dark wilderness. Joe looks sideways at Evan, the moon right behind his ear, and he wonders what life will look like tomorrow.

Part VII

MURDER

68.

Joe

If he will take down Joe’s family, then Joe will take down Evan. He balls his hand into a fist, as he has a hundred times before, and connects it completely and squarely with Evan’s jaw.

The punch lands with more of a thud than a smack, Joe feeling exquisite with the release of it, the power in his arm having bowled Evan over. He stumbles once, twice, his head lolling back as Joe watches. And then he falls backwards, another thud. And then a crack. His head hits two parts of the stile as he goes down.

Joe stares down in shock. The world seems to still around them.

It is a slow and soupy night, the air close and warm, like the air in an indoor swimming pool. Clammy. The moon he and Frannie looked at earlier is now partly obscured by a bundle of pillowy clouds. The rain that’s troubled them all summer has finally gone, like the weather too knows the new phase they’re in. He thinks of Frannie’s hand gripping his over their fence.

The ground is soft underfoot, muddy tracks made by tractors and farm traffic. He’s always loved living here with Lydia, close to his family, and he’ll miss it. It was written in the invisible stars, he thinks, looking upwards. From that night in Verona. It was always going to end here.

Joe reaches down for Evan’s wrist and holds it listlessly. There’s no pulse. His head is bleeding profusely. Sweat rises from some deep, warm part of Joe, and he begins to tremble.

Alone in the field, tears bud in his throat and he finds himself wondering as he cries whether Evan has any siblings.

Joe reaches for his phone, afterwards. Finds the contacts with shaking hands. Finds Cathy. She will know what to do.

‘Help me, please help me,’ he says into the mouthpiece.

‘What?’ Cathy has panic in her voice, her usually muted tone immediately harsh, like she’s been waiting for this. ‘What?’ The second word she utters is resigned, a full, disappointed glob of a word like syrup falling off a spoon.

When he’s talking to her, he hears the BBC Breaking News alert in his ear. Confused, he pulls away the phone to look. Body found near British family’s second home in search for Verona missing man, it says.